


Childish

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack-ish, Fluff, Hannibal wants Will to knock it off, Humor, M/M, The only solution is water balloons, Will wants Hannibal to lighten up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7878796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will wants to give Hannibal a second childhood, or maybe a first. There is nothing scarier than a playful Hannibal...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Childish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jhonni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jhonni/gifts).



> A birthday fic for the lovely Jhonni. I hope you like fluff, because this is fluff x fluff to the fluff power...

         Hannibal pressed his head back into the pillow, stretching his neck as the sweat cooled on his body. He was near limbless, a state only Will could coax out of him after hours of deep kisses, soft bites and languid writhing. He could still smell Will on his skin. He could still taste Will if he pressed his tongue to his teeth. He could still hear Will, because the empath was currently beating out a frenetic staccato rhythm on the carved wood directly over Hannibal’s head.

          _Tap-tap. Tap-tap._

         “Will?”

         “Hmmmm?”

          _Tap-tap. Tap-tap._

         “While I applaud any musical endeavor you attempt, may I ask what is prompting a timpani performance at this hour?”

         Will’s rhythm faltered for a moment, then redoubled.

          _Tap-ta-tap. Tap-ta-tap._

         “What? Is this annoying?” His smile was half hidden, pressed into a pillow.

         “It’s childish.”

          _Tap-ta-tap. Tap-ta-tap._

         “What would you know about being a child?”

         Hannibal narrowed his eyes.

         “I was second in my class in child psychology, I have 5 years of clinical training with children,” Hannibal listed his accomplishments as though he were stating facts everyone in the world should know. With a sigh, he looked at Will. “Also, I was a child for several years.”

         “Lies.” Will said, mirth lacing through his voice. “You sprang fully formed from a casket in Lithuania, in a tuxedo clutching a glass of Montrachet. You lost the cape at some point, I grant you, but you can’t fool me.”

         Hannibal leveled a glare at Will, who met his eyes and smiled wider. 

          _Tap-ta-tap-tap-tap._

         “You’re in a charming mood tonight.”

         “I’m in a playful mood, which you would know if you weren’t born 40 with a trick hip.”

         Hannibal huffed and rolled on his side to scowl at the wall. His hip gave out one time while they were carrying a body, he was hardly infirm.

          _Tap-ta-tap-tap-tap._

         A stubbled chin scratched over Hannibal’s neck as warm flesh molded to his back.

         “ _Pssssst._ Hannibal.” A laugh was in Will’s voice, Hannibal closed his eyes and tried to remember all the reasons he wanted Will to live. “Did you ever play games? You know, when you were allegedly a kid.”

         “I was always quite fond of chess.”

         “Ah-ha!” Will’s outburst left Hannibal’s ear ringing. “That my cuddly cannibal is an old man game. I’m talking kiddie games.”

         Hannibal sighed.

         “Such as…”

         “I can see it now: your dour little face. Were you a chubster? I bet you were. I bet you had chipmunk cheeks and pudgy fingers.” Will’s tapping hand ceased, traveling to brush through Hannibal’s hair. “I would give my right arm to see a baby picture of you. What sort of games would you play in your Addams Family castle? Tag, you’re dead? Hide and hunt? Tic, Tac, Toe tag?”

         Hannibal turned to Will eyebrow arched.

         “I have been known to enjoy a food fight.’

         Will’s foot nudged the meat of Hannibal’s calf.

         “Struggling with your victims does not count as a food fight, you weirdo.” Will pressed a kiss behind Hannibal’s ear. “Face it, old man, you’ve never played a kid’s game.”

         Will settled after that, content to nip gently at Hannibal’s shoulder and soothe the little wounds with sleepy nuzzles. Hannibal stared into the dark, a weight in the pit of his stomach. He waited until Will’s breathing grew deep and steady. 

         “Tea Parties,” Hannibal confessed to the dark.

         “Hmmm?”

         “I hosted quite a few tea parties as a child.” The steady breath on Hannibal’s neck stopped. “Mischa loved it when I laid out an elaborate, elegant table and played host to her and her collection of dolls.”

         Arms wrapped around Hannibal’s torso, tugging him back tight to Will’s chest. A mouth, hot and soft rested at the base of Hannibal’s neck lipping at the tension held there.

         “I-” Will’s voice was rough, a slight tremble in the lips pressed so ardently to Hannibal’s body.

         “You need only apologize for your impromptu drum concert, Will.” Hannibal allowed himself to melt into the man behind him, absorbing the waves of affection and love that radiated from Will.

         “I’m sorry.” It was a delicate phrase, one they rarely used with each other, every utterance precious and sincere. Hannibal drew Will’s hand to his lips and fell asleep with the taste still on his tongue. 

* * *

         It had been two days of soft looks and gentle caressing hands. Any agony Hannibal felt about the specter of Mischa had been squeezed from him by Will’s strong arms and tender mouth, but far be it from Hannibal to discourage Will’s desire to baby him. Every sigh earned him nibbling kisses behind his ear, each baleful glance out the window was interrupted by nuzzles to his shoulder. He calculated that he had at least two more days of kid glove adoration before Will realized that Hannibal wasn’t a wounded stray. He would enjoy the next 48 hours.

         He returned from the market with arms filled with parcels. There was a new storefront by the carnicero, alarmingly called The Barkery. He had sneered at it for a long moment before glancing at the bone shaped treats in the window and imagining Will’s smile if he brought an assortment home to their one-eared lumbering mutt Charlie. Perhaps 30 biscuits was excessive. Charles’ only impressive feat as far as Hannibal was concerned was his ability to deposit hair on every conceivable surface of the house, but Hannibal was unsure what flavor profile would appeal to the mongrel. Once he knew, he could replicate the recipe at home, and save himself from ever entering a Barkery again. 

         He stopped when he reached the porch. A large silver tub was sitting in front of the door, a note pinned to it: 

 

> _Dear Hanners,_
> 
> _I think it’s about time you got a little childish. I’m inside armed with a super-soaker (that’s a water gun, old man). I will shoot the second I see you. Because I’m the sporting sort, I’ve left you these. First one to get a clean hit wins. Loser makes dinner._
> 
> _Happy hunting!_
> 
> _~W_

         Hannibal peered into the tub, it was filled with an assortment of brightly colored balloons. He gingerly sat the packages down and lifted a balloon, testing its tensile strength and weight.

         A movement at the side of the porch caught his eye. He threw the balloon on instinct, a surprised _yelp_ sounded when the projectile connected with his target. Hannibal closed his eyes, a smile twitching on his lips.

         “Apologies, Charles,” he murmured.

         The mutt shook, sending water in large arcs over the steps. He looked at Hannibal and sneezed, wet ear flapping.

         “Indeed.” Hannibal bent down to the Barkery parcel. “Perhaps I can buy your forgiveness and ask a favor?”

         Hannibal held a foul smelling biscuit aloft, it reeked of fish and some type of chicken paste. Charlie promptly sat at attention, all hopeful eyes and wagging tail. Hannibal smiled, flipping the treat in the air. Charlie gobbled it in a disgraceful manner, but Hannibal waited until the beast licked its chops and returned his attention to Hannibal.

         Grabbing three water balloons, Hannibal carefully swung open the door. He turned to Charlie.

         “Charles? Find daddy,” Hannibal whispered. They had been working on this command for months, but Hannibal had never imagined this scenario as he trained Charlie.

         The dog immediately scented the air, tail waving as he processed. He took off to the stairs, loping up the flight. Hannibal slipped off his shoes and followed on silent feet. He found Charlie sitting in front of the linen closet, panting happily. The door creaked open and a hand waved in the dog’s face. 

         “Shoo! Charlie, go! Uhhh….dinner!” 

         That worked. 

         Charlie raced away from the closet toward the kitchen. As the hand retracted, Hannibal seized it, yanking Will from the closet and smacking a balloon on a nest of curls. 

         “Betrayed by my own dog!” Will cackled as he struggled in Hannibal’s arms. The rest of the balloons burst between them as they grappled. Hannibal collapsed to the floor, dragging Will with him. Something hard hit his chest, and Hannibal realized that the neon obscenity crushing his solar plexus must be the _super-soaker_. 

         Will was still laughing, shoving at Hannibal and attempting to wrestle the water pistol free. Hannibal relented, allowing Will to straddle him, soaker aimed at his face. He held his hands up.

         “I surrender, Agent Graham.”

         Will smiled, eyes glinting. He sprayed Hannibal in the face, using his thighs to keep the doctor from bucking Will off. Hannibal attempted to deflect some of the spray, but eventually gave up and lunged for Will’s chest, digging his fingers into the sensitive flesh under his arms. Will shrieked and jerked, dropping the gun and slapping Hannibal’s hands. 

         They rolled, both breathless with laughter as they struggled. Hannibal felt a brief flash of recognition, the sound of a young girl’s laugh echoing in the cavern of his Mind Palace. He hadn’t visited that room in quite some time. He froze, bangs dripping on Will’s forehead, cheeks sore from the unfamiliar stretch of his mouth.

         Will looked up, meeting Hannibal’s eyes with a soft expression.

         “Fun, love. It’s called fun.” Will pressed a damp kiss to the corner of Hannibal’s smile, careful not to disturb it. “And you don’t need blood or Dante to have it.”

         “I remember.” Hannibal’s voice was thick, the smile faltering for a second. He cleared his throat and closed the door in his Mind Palace, the one that smelled of rue blooms and ausuki. There would be time to pay an overdue visit there later. Hannibal shook his head, sending water flying onto Will’s beaming face. “I also remember that the loser of this little challenge is responsible for dinner.”  

         Will grinned, snatching a few more kisses from Hannibal before huffing to his feet. He shook his head, rather like Charlie had, sending water all over the painted silk wallpaper.

         “I’ve got that covered. Dinner will be ready in 10 minutes, after I feed my traitor dog.” Will walked toward the stairs, pausing to turn and smile at Hannibal’s prone form. “Tell me, Hannibal, do you prefer your SpaghettiOs with meatballs or sliced hotdogs?”

         Hannibal’s mouth fell into an open snarl. Will’s smile grew wide. Cruel boy.

         “You seem like a sliced franks kinda guy,” Will said with a mock serious face. “Dinner in 10. Be a good boy and set the dining room table.”

        Will ran down the stairs giggling, wet hair flopping around his forehead and ears. Hannibal stood, shedding his soaked coat and leaving it in a heap on the floor. He padded down the stairs and toward the front door.

         Quietly, Hannibal lifted up the tub of water balloons and secreted them into the dining room. He slid the container under the table, within easy reach of his customary place. After all, it was rude not to bring something to dinner.


End file.
